


Eighty-Four Days.

by Kitty_Kinneas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_Kinneas/pseuds/Kitty_Kinneas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighty-four days is a long time, especially when it's marking time apart from Steve. Tony's having trouble sleeping without his lover and resorts to an odd measure to assist him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eighty-Four Days.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by an artwork I saw on Tumblr by an amazing person whose username there is hello-shellhead.
> 
> [Click here for lovely artwork!](http://hello-shellhead.tumblr.com/post/66413589915/i-have-a-thing-for-brown-colour-schemes-this)
> 
> It is lovely. T_T Now on to the fic, which may or may not be as lovely. (Probably not, but I had fun.)

He didn't usually take the damn thing out. If the truth be told, he was as obsessive over its mint condition as Phil was over his cards.

But Steve had been gone for eighty-four days, eyeballs deep in some covert mission that Tony wasn't allowed to know about. All SHIELD would tell him was that Steve wasn't dead. He'd been having trouble sleeping, missing the heat and even breathing of his lover beside him, and so he resorted to the only thing he could think of.

The plushie he'd had since he was a boy. The one thing Howard had ever given him that he actually liked. He wriggled around and settled down on his stomach, tucking it carefully into the crook of his arm where he would hopefully not roll over on it.

Hugging the plushie and his pillow, sheets pooled around his waist, he let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.

“G'night, Tiny Cap,” he said, yawning.

Whether it was because of the plushie, or because he hadn't slept properly in the last week was unclear, but Tony soon dropped off, a peaceful look on his face.

This was the sight that greeted Steve when he entered their shared room, the dip of Tony's spine picked out in creams and shadow by the moon that spilled in the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a welcome one after eighty-four days of mud and blood and people's insides in twenty different places they shouldn't be.

He dragged his hand through his blonde hair, putting his bag down, and toed off his shoes and socks. Tony looked so pretty and peaceful and he knew he should let him sleep, but he'd missed him so much.

His shirt was gone in two strides, and then he was climbing carefully onto the bed, crawling over Tony with predatory grace.

Tony stirred only very slightly, murmuring and Steve grinned as he moved higher.

Then his hand pressed against the plushie and it squeaked uproariously, jerking Tony out of his slumber and making Steve jump, still on a hairtrigger.

“What the hell?!” Tony blustered blearily while Steve tried to stop his heart beating out of his chest.

“Hey, baby,” Steve said a little sheepishly, and watched the sudden tension melt out of Tony's shoulders and spine.

“Oh,” he said, a smile creeping across his face. “Hey.” Then; “Jarvis. Lowlights.”

The lights came up just a little, bathing the room in gold, and he started to roll over, but Steve pressed his hips down against Tony's backside, holding him where he was.

“What's this?” he asked, taking the Captain America plushie by the helmet and lifting it from the crook of Tony's arm.

“Oh. That. It's just. You know. Howard gave it to me,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant while some part of him worried that Steve's hold would stress the stitches that held the helmet on. They were pretty old, after all.

Steve grinned.

“Well. You've got the real thing now.”

Tony was warm with sleep and Steve was unendingly amused and touched by the little doll. He dipped his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the top of Tony's spine.

“Mmm...” Tony muzzed against the pillow.

Steve made to toss the plushie aside but Tony caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes.

“Don't!” he bleated.

Steve paused, raising a brow.

“It... it's mint...” he mumbled.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Steve's lips.

“Seriously?”

“Shut up,” Tony muttered darkly.

Steve snickered.

“You're so adorable,” was the blonde's reply, but he carefully put the plushie aside, leaning it against the lamp on the bedside, before he returned to licking and kissing across Tony's shoulders.

The engineer relaxed into the pillows, smoothing his hand across the sheet and stretching luxuriously beneath Steve. His eyes flickered shut and he sighed.

“Missed you,” he murmured, muscle flexing beneath the stroke of Steve's hand up his side.

“Missed you, too,” Steve replied.

Tony thrilled at the press of Steve's fly through the sheets, canting his hips up towards it. Steve obligingly rolled his own hips down in a slow, easy motion, dragging his tongue outwards from Tony's spine along his clavicle. He closed his lips on a rounded shoulder, pressed his teeth in and sucked while Tony twitched beneath him, toes curling into the sheets.

“Steve!” he said throatily.

“I'm here, love, I'm here,” Steve assured him, and the tone of his voice suggested he was reassuring himself as well.

He slid his hands down Tony's sides, fingertips curling just under his hip-bones and lifted him up a little, his own hips moving in a slow rotation.

“Eighty-four days, Tony,” Steve whispered while the man beneath him groaned and stretched and fisted his hands in the pillows. “That's a long time for you.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, only half-listening because most of his massive brainpower was centred on trying to figure out how to get Steve's jeans off when all the fastenings were so firmly pressed to his own backside like that.

Steve's mouth came to his ear.

“How did you get through all those nights without me?” he wondered lowly.

Tony grinned.

“Oh, you'd blush to hear it, Steven Rogers,” he said.

Steve laughed, one hand dipping deeper beneath Tony's body and dragging fingertips along his length.

Tony lifted his hips a little higher, but Steve's grip tightened slightly against his hipbone, holding him where he wanted him.

“I don't know,” Steve whispered, fingertips moving up and down beneath Tony's length so that the man shivered and murmured into the pillow. “Bet I did just as bad.”

Tony shook his head a little, more of a rub into the pillow.

“Nothing bad about it, baby. Everyone does it. That's your 1940's sensibilities sneaking in. Even Fury does it.”

Steve laughed against his spine, and he loved it. He always loved the rich, rounded sound of Steve's laugh.

“Tony. I don't want to think about Fury... uh...”

“Jerking off?” Tony offered.

“...helping himself out.”

Now Tony laughed, then he groaned as Steve's hand wrapped fully around him and stroked a little. Steve rolled his tongue against the edge of Tony's ear, and not for the first time, he was glad at how good a student the blonde was. He murmured encouragements and, after a few minutes of Steve's hand and his tongue driving him insane by degrees, he gasped;

“You should take your jeans off,” because he still hadn't figured out a decent attack plan for getting them off himself.

“Hmm...” Steve hummed thoughtfully. “Should I now?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, because it was clearly the best idea ever. “You should. You. Really should.”

“Well if I should, how come you haven't taken them off me yet...?” Steve purred, all smirk.

“Because I can't reach,” Tony complained. He let go of the sheets with one hand to demonstrate. The best he could manage was to twist his fingers in the waistband near Steve's hip. “See?”

“I see,” Steve said. “All that big Stark brain and you're defeated by a pair of bluejeans.”

“I hate you,” Tony whined.

“Such a liar,” Steve said, a grin in the words as he flexed his hips, twisted his hand and Tony moaned. “You are such a liar.”

“You're right,” Tony said softly. “I don't hate you at all.”

Tony felt Steve smile against the nape of his neck and then the soldier was withdrawing and without the support of the hand on his hip, Tony puddled to the mattress, sinking pleasantly into it. He nuzzled at the pillow again, gazing at the little toy Steve while the larger-than-life real one shuffled about behind him.

“I don't hate you,” he murmured again, almost sleepily.

“No?” Steve asked, nosing at the edge of the sheet where it had settled just below the small of Tony's back.

“No. No way. I love you.”

Steve smiled against the base of Tony's spine and dropped tender kisses there, nosing the sheet lower to reveal the curve of his behind. This he peppered with kisses as well, and the odd light drag of his teeth.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, sending a shiver of warmth and delight up Tony's spine, just like always.

Steve's tongue dragged at Tony's tailbone, making him hiss and fist his hands tighter in the sheets, pulling himself in a slow roll upwards. Steve did it again and again until Tony said;

“Steve,”

He felt more than heard the deep-chested chuckle, a rough vibration against the backs of his thighs.

Steve slid lower, and pressed his tongue where Tony really wanted it, palms spreading flesh so he could press in and stroke rough and slow.

Tony swore, his whole body flexing on the bed, and he pressed his cheek and ear into the pillow, groaning through his teeth. He was a tease, such a fucking tease and if Tony didn't love it so much he wouldn't have been able to take it.

“Steve,” he said again. “H-oh, Steve! Please.”

Steve purred at the supplication and thrust his tongue within the other man.

Tony actually, literally whined, but he would deny he had to his dying day. Only then Steve withdrew and did it again, and again the sound came. It was harder to deny something when it had happened twice. Although he'd done it before.

His mind short circuited when Steve set up a gentle rhythm in that manner, withdrawing and entering over and again. Tony was aware of Steve's heavy heartbeat against one thigh.

“Please,” he said again. “Please, Steve...”

Steve hummed his agreement, and there was a bit more shuffling, Steve's weight along the entirety of his back, then a slick finger easing within him. Steve sighed across his ear as, for his part, Tony moaned his encouragement, lifting his hips slow.

“Missed you,” Steve said again, working the finger gently, skilfully. “Tony... I'm here. I'm... here. I'm so glad I'm here...”

There was a haunted desperation in his tone – it had been a bad mission, the kind that twisted his sense of morality, and made him question SHIELD or himself or the human race in general. Tony didn't need to hear about it to know that from his words.

“It's alright, soldier,” Tony whispered. “You're home. You've come in. I'm here too.”

Steve pressed down against him, letting out a long, slow breath. He added a second finger. Delicious.

“I've come in,” the blond repeated.

“Stand down,” Tony agreed.

There was a momentary pause as Steve absorbed the command, then his mouth curled in a smirk against the shell of Tony's ear.

“Oh, Tony,” he said, twisting his fingers, adding a third. “Isn't there a part of me you'd rather stood up?”

Tony groaned, trying to hide his grin, but it was evident in his words when he said;

“Cap, that was terrible. Never say that again.”

Steve laughed, tension draining out of him and he sat up a little. Tony didn't need to see him to know he'd be watching the work of his hand. It made him tingle with awareness, heat pooling low in his belly as he rocked back against Steve's slick fingers.

“Steeeve,” Tony complained, knowing he was well past ready.

“Wait,” Steve said with a chuckle.

“Eighty-four days, Steven. I've waited eighty-four days.”

The chuckle turned into a real laugh and Steve withdrew his fingers. Tony felt his incredible heat and weight shift, spreading out across his back. Felt the powerful flex of calves and thighs against his own as Steve drew his knees up beneath him. One hand pressed in against his stomach, lifted his hips and he obligingly drew his own knees up as well.

“Was it a long time?”

“So long,” Tony complained.

“Did you miss me?”

“So much.”

“Do you love me?”

“More than anything.”

Steve smiled, shifted, then began to guide himself into Tony. Tony hissed and fisted at the sheets, flex and release, keeping his lower body as relaxed as he could manage with the eagerness that was burning through his veins.

“It was such a long time,” Steve echoed. “I love you.”

He settled against Tony's back, hips tight against the other man's rear and mouthed at the nape of his neck. Tony trembled beneath him.

“Please...” he whispered.

Steve murmured his assent against Tony's ear. One broad hand splayed across Tony's muscled belly, holding him steady, firm, grounding them both. The supersoldier gave one long, deep thrust, withdrew almost completely and did it again.

Tony gasped, rubbing his forehead briefly against his own bicep when Steve stilled, as deep as he could get, moulded to Tony's back.

 

“I missed you,” Steve murmured, his hand sliding up from Tony's belly to his jaw, turning his head to kiss him.

Tony definitely didn't argue with that. It was languid and slow and tender, sending yet more heat to join the growing pool. Steve was still kissing him when he began to move his hips in earnest, a deeply satisfying rhythm that set Tony's nerves afire almost instantly.

Steve's hand had stroked back to Tony's abs, spreading there again. Steve held him steady as he rocked into him, showing a restraint that surprised Tony, given their long separation. For his part, he had none.

“Steve,” he whispered, pushing back against him. “Steve, Stevie, Steve, please.”

“Mmm?” Steve rumbled, eyelashes fluttering against Tony's neck where he was now mouthing against the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“More,” he said tightly. “Please.”

“Yes,” Steve growled.

Tony felt those muscles coiling, all that power drawing into focus, and then Steve was rolling into him in earnest, the same muscles flexing and shifting against him. Perfect. He pressed up into the hard frame of Steve's body, matching the rhythm stroke for stroke.

Eighty-four days was a long time, but oh! It was worth the wait. Re-learning the motion of Steve's body, feeding off the twitchy battle-energy he stocked higher than he needed to whenever he was in the field. It was the best way either of them had found to syphon it off, and neither of them was all that inclined to find another.

Tony hugged a pillow to himself, balancing on his forearms, and moaned helplessly, deep in his throat. Steve's mouth was at the junction of neck of shoulder, licking and sucking, but it wouldn't be long before – ah! There. Steve had bitten down, latched on as his hips increased their pace.

“Steve!” he cried and the blond laughed rough against his skin, then wrapped a hand around Tony's length and began to stroke in time with his hips.

Tony cried out low, hips bucking out of rhythm and there was a moment of awkwardness, but Steve was good at everything and it took him only a moment to re-set them. Then there was nothing but pleasure and breathing and hands and tongues and Steve, Steve, Steve.

The heat grew, overtaking his body, making him putty beneath his lover. But then, he was always putty when it came to Steve Rogers. He arched back against the other man, hips twitching into Steve's hand.

“Steve, oh...” he whispered. “Nn... Steve!”

“I'm here, Tony,” Steve growled. “You're so... so...”

He trailed off into a low, guttural growly-sounding moan that went straight to the pool of heat in Tony's belly. His hips bucked and he gave a shaky cry of his own, lifting up into his lover's movements.

“Steve, I...”

“'S'okay,” Steve said, not needing him to finish the sentence. “S'okay.”

Despite the permission and his own words, Tony tried to hold off, but Steve twisted his hand, and stroked just right and-

“Steve!”

Tony's whole body bucked with his release, Steve's strong arms cradling him through its intensity. Tony felt himself begin to go boneless, but Steve held him where he was, driving into him once more.

Tony murmured and muttered, trying to make his boneless body work to help Steve out. It didn't do much, but he didn't need much helping either. All that glorious muscle soon drew taut, Steve's grip on him intensifying to a point where it was almost painful. Tony heard his name, a low groan in his ear, and shuddered bone-deep with Steve's release.

They puddled against the bed, Steve a loose, relaxed weight atop him that he wasn't complaining about at all. His eyes were already sliding shut, the sleep deprivation of the past eighty-four days catching up with him all in a rush.

Steve's arms pushed under him, coiled around him, and the soldier hugged him in a way that made him force himself awake again.

“Okay?” he asked softly.

Steve didn't answer, and after a long, fuzzy moment, Tony realised it was because he was crying, silent and still, but there was no disguising the warm tears that soaked through his dark hair.

“Oh, baby,” Tony said.

He tried to turn over, but Steve's grip on him was too tight, his weight too much.

“Baby, baby,” he crooned, patting the side of Steve's head, stroking his fingers through his hair. “Let me up.”

A spasm passed through Steve's arms, like he was trying to, but he couldn't.

“Steve? Cap? I'm not going anywhere, just... just lemme turn over.”

Steve swallowed – Tony felt it in the flex of his throat against his shoulder – and loosed his grip a little.

Tony took the fraction of a second to turn over before Steve's iron grip returned. He brought his own arms up, one cradling Steve's shoulders – they were shaking now – the other sliding into his hair at the base of his skull.

“Honey. Baby. What is it?”

Steve shook his head, but the stroking of Tony's through his hair seemed to calm him, and soon he'd controlled himself again.

“Eighty-four days,” he said. “Blood and sweat and pain and... I... I didn't think...”

“Shh, it's okay. You're here. You're safe,” he reminded Steve, thumb running gently across one crinkled blond brow. “I got you. What happened?”

Again, Steve shook his head.

“It got bad. Real bad. Clint was half dead and we hadn't heard from Natasha in two days. I was supposed to be tracking down their leader, but I couldn't leave Clint. His fever was so high he needed constant water... He... he'd've died.” Steve sucked in a breath. “I shouldn't be telling you this.”

“JARVIS will find it if you don't,” Tony pointed out.

So Steve went on.

“Fury was in my ear, every hour, telling me – get out of there and follow orders. But I couldn't, Tony, I couldn't. Clint's... he's...”

“Family.”

Steve nodded.

“One hundred and seventy-nine civilians died, Tony. And it's on me. It's... I ch... I chose Clint over one hundred and seventy-nine civilians.”

Another tear slid down his cheek, eyes searching the engineer's as though afraid he'd look away.

Instead, Tony caught his face between his hands, thumbs smoothing across his cheekbones and he smiled.

“Oh, Captain. You did the human thing.”

“I did the wrong thing, Tony!” Steve cried. “One hundred and seventy-n-”

Tony kissed him. When he drew back he shook his head a little.

“You stayed with your crew,” he said. “You didn't leave him behind. For once, you chose your heart over your head, and I won't berate you for that. And nor should you. Don't beat yourself up over this. It's selfish, but I'd rather have Clint Barton alive than those one hundred and seventy-nine civies.”

Steve shook his head and started to pull away, but Tony held him fast.

“Think of it like this,” he said. He was good with numbers, and by god he would use them against Captain Fucking America if he had to. “Do you know how many people are on Clint? How many people he's saved since he became an agent?”

Steve shook his head, blinking hard.

“...Neither do I,” Tony admitted. “JARVIS?”

JARVIS rattled off a number in the ten thousands.

“Sir, that doesn't take into account non-specific 'life saving' acts, such as his part in the Battle of New York, and other such city and/or planet-saving Avengers missions he has been involved in. If we were to include such things, it could be said his record of lives saved numbers in the several million.”

“Thanks, J.” His eyes swung back to Steve. “If he died back there, how many more people might die because he's not on rotation any more?”

Steve's mouth opened, closed, opened again. Tony smirked.

“You can't argue with that, can you?”

Steve huffed a sigh, but eventually sadly shook his head.

Tony knew it would take more than that to convince him – he thought seeing Clint alive as well, and the thanks the Hawk would eventually give him might go a long way, but for now there was only him, stroking Steve's spine.

“Relax, soldier,” he crooned. “Let it go. You're home. You're safe. I'm here.”

Steve sighed again and settled down once more atop Tony, finally beginning to actually relax, muscle by muscle, as Tony stroked him.

“I missed you,” Steve said, aching. “I didn't know if I'd ever see you again.”

The thought of it chilled Tony, but Steve needed him strong, so he didn't let it overwhelm him.

“You never give up, soldierboy. Come back, and I'll always be waiting for you.”

“Even after eighty-four days?” Steve asked. His voice was rough, languid in a way Tony knew he was falling asleep.

“Even after forever, Captain Rogers.”

“Glad t'hear it... Mr... Stark...”

Tony let out a long breath as Steve's own breathing eased into the regular rhythms of sleep. He turned his head. The little doll sat against the lamp, guarding them with its little gun. A half-smile curved Tony's mouth, and he wrapped his arms around the real thing and drifted off to sleep.


End file.
